


ground zero

by troubled



Series: cosa nostra [1]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 07:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18090026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubled/pseuds/troubled
Summary: it’s a dark pain, this urge of wanting.changmin is a mob enforcer. yunho comes into his possession after a rather uneventful night.





	ground zero

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be written for yunho & changmin's birthdays. shit happens, so here it is in its ugly entirety about a month too late. and i'm pretty sure mobsters don't live in a giant rambling mansion together like a community of fun-loving, expensively-dressed murderers, but who knows. maybe they do.

 

"Look who finally decided to show his ugly mug.”

Changmin drags a hand through his hair, his gait leisurely as he approaches Kyuhyun. The street is dark this late at night and it’s fortunate that the Han Family prefers an upscale, private neighbourhood where everyone minds their own business. “What’s so important that they called both of us down anyway? Local rats can’t handle their own?”

”Fuck if I know.” Kyuhyun isn’t the type to give two shits about why he’s killing who he’s killing. It’s business, nothing personal. “Teukie-hyung shoved me into the car in the middle of dinner and told me not to come back until everyone’s dead.”

“Serves you right for skipping out on that Gwangju job.” Kyuhyun throws him a dirty look that Changmin ignores. This isn’t the first time they have to clean up someone else’s mess, probably isn’t the last. “What’s the official order?”

“Kill them all. No survivors.” Kyuhyun heaves a sigh. “They want it messy.”

Changmin nods and starts for the looming gates presiding over the estate. Considering the size of the compound, they’re going be out here all night. _Fuck_. “Sending a message, huh?”

“Quickest way through.” Kyuhyun signals at a group of suits waiting for them and the gates crack open to allow them entry. He tilts his head towards Changmin. “Usual wager?”

Changmin pulls his gun out of its holster, flicks off its safety.

“Done.” 

 

*

 

There’s nothing poetic about carnage. Changmin doesn’t particularly like killing people, but it’s necessary in their line of work and he does it with the aplomb of a slaughterhouse. They take out the guards first, before getting to the individual rooms. Changmin walks in through the front door and shoots everything that moves, bodies dropping around him in a symphony as he moves deeper into the shadows. Blood pools out over the polished wooden floor, dark and glimmering, and moonlight paints a surreal picture out of it. He’d emptied his Sig’s clip by the time he reaches the larger passages.

Changmin kicks aside the body by the door, does a quick shell count before he turns the knob and shoulders his way inside. He lowers his gun when he realises someone else had already beaten him to it. Sprawled out on the bed is Han Bogyeong, the patriarch of the family. It’s fairly obvious he wouldn’t be presiding over anymore illegal prostitution rings anytime soon. Or ever. Changmin holsters his gun and heads for the bed to find that a jagged, gaping slit is carved from one ear to the other. His eyes are closed, almost as if he’s in slumber, and it’s a cleaner death than the middle-aged man had afforded most of his enemies.

Changmin rounds the bed and stops when his leather shoe hits something heavy, but soft. There’s another man crumpled almost halfway under the bed, unmoving. Much younger than the dead. The carmine red of his robe makes a stark contrast against pale skin and Changmin kneels next to the body, brushing off dark hair to get a better look.

It doesn’t take long for him to make the decision. Changmin scoops the man into his arms and walks out of the bedroom without a second glance.

 

*

 

“Dude. Which part of ‘kill everyone’ did you not get?” Kyuhyun frowns, gesturing at the limp body in Changmin’s arms. “Who the fuck is that?”

Changmin grins with all teeth. His voice brooks no argument when he says, “A souvenir.”

 

*

 

The man has the kind of delicate, vulnerable prettiness that isn’t commonplace in their world. Changmin knows that he himself is beautiful, but in the way a really sharp knife is: sure, it’s shiny and aesthetically pleasing, but don’t be stupid enough to try putting your hands on it unless you want to lose your fingers. The man, on the other hand, is all helpless innocence, especially in sleep, where anyone can come and do anything they want to him. And there are a lot of things someone might want to do with him. Changmin slips out of his suit jacket, rolls his sleeves to his elbows and thinks about how he’s going to explain this to the old man.

One thing at a time.

Changmin puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes him awake.

Soot-black lashes flutter, lips moving like an invitation to kiss. He sighs and blinks, slowly focuses on Changmin, then jerks away from him, fingers pulling his robe tighter around his body. Fear is easy to recognise, fear is something Changmin’s familiar with.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice quivering. His eyes flick to the rest of the room. “W-Where am I?”

“I’m the one asking questions around here, sweetheart.” Changmin grins as he takes in the soft, dark eyes looking up at him. “What’s your name?”

“—Yunho.” He swallows. Some kind of survival instinct must’ve prompted him to add, “—sir.”

“Yun. Ho.” Changmin rolls the syllables over, likes the sound of it. He crosses his arms. “Han Bogyeong. Do you know who he was?”

Yunho nods, tentative.

“What were you doing with him?”

Red creeps onto Yunho’s cheeks. “He— He owns me, sir.”

“You’re one of his prostitutes?”

Yunho blanches as if struck, colours even further and his gaze darts away to a far corner of the room without meeting Changmin’s.

Changmin’s grin grows sharper, more teeth. “Do you have a family? Anyone waiting for you?”

Yunho shakes his head. It’s not uncommon for orphans to be plucked from the streets and dragged into the filthy underbelly of their great cities – they have nowhere to go and no one would’ve missed them. Changmin isn’t a fan of brothels, never had to pay to get someone into his bed, but he knows of the money to be made in the flesh trade. Even better with blackmail thrown in. Changmin’s eyes linger on the specks of dried blood marring the arch of Yunho’s neck, rust-brown against the pale skin there, and they climb all the way to the side of his jaw.

Like ivy creepers, only uglier.

Changmin hates ugly things.

He unbuttons his shirt and drops it into the hamper. Yunho’s looking away again, spots of colour high upon his cheekbones and Changmin has to wonder how the fuck is he still so shy when he earns a living on his back, spreading his legs for anyone paying the right price. Yunho startles when Changmin gestures for him to get off the bed, but his hesitation lasts for only a half-second before he follows Changmin into the bathroom. The harsh fluorescent light makes his skin even paler, washes out all other colours and Yunho stands meekly by the counter top as Changmin steps out of his pants.

His own nakedness doesn’t bother him – what he wants is for Yunho to match him, skin to skin. Changmin orders him to strip and learns how far down the red goes. Yunho really is pretty all over, even more so with his head bowed in submission as Changmin herds him into the shower. Warm water sluices away the evidence of the night’s massacre, swirling down the drains. Changmin makes Yunho scrub him over, his cock half-hard by the time they’re both done. Changmin thinks of jacking off, maybe get Yunho on his knees and then come all over his face, but it’s late and he has an appointment in a couple hours.

He’d have him later.

When he has all the time in the world to savour his newest acquisition.

Changmin tosses Yunho a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. It’s a relic from his university days, soft from years of washing, and he watches Yunho change into them. Yunho stands at the foot of the bed, uncertainty in the taut lines of his shoulders, but he eventually crawls into the empty space next to Changmin and lies down. He’s sweet-smelling from the shower, still slightly damp and the thin t-shirt does little to hide the rise and fall of his chest. Changmin extends an arm and curls it around Yunho’s waist, pulling him closer. He meets no resistance as he shapes his body around Yunho and closes his eyes, counting the seconds until Yunho’s breath evens out.

Hours later, Changmin blinks into the dark and knows the precise second that Yunho wakes up. There’s a hitched gasp, followed by a too-careful exhale as Yunho goes stiff. The bed is warm under them and their bodies are still pressed so closely together that Changmin can feel Yunho’s eyelashes tickle the bare skin of his shoulder when Yunho blinks, can feel the maddeningly delicate brush of Yunho’s lips, the wetness of the tip of his tongue, as he swallows. It isn’t quite morning, not yet. Dawn is a pale yellow and white outside the window, but the greyness of shadows still lingers. Changmin keeps his limbs loose enough that Yunho can untangle himself if he wants to.

But Yunho doesn’t. He shifts, tucks his head under Changmin’s chin and goes back to sleep.

 

*

 

Changmin wakes again to the brush of fingers over his cheek, his lips and his first instinct is to break bones. His hand snaps up, closes tight around Yunho’s wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“Sir—”

“Changmin. Call me Changmin.”

Yunho lowers his head, hair parting over the arch of his lily-white neck. He doesn’t flinch at Changmin’s bruising grip. “There’s someone at the door, Changmin-sshi.”

It takes Changmin a minute to process the words. He lets go of Yunho’s wrist, a thumb rubbing the edge of it in apology – probably the most sincere he’d made in years. And then he sits up, scrubs his face and grabs his pants. Minseok’s already waiting and from the nervous look on the kid’s face, Changmin knows it’s a summon from the old man. He glances at the mirror to fix his hair, staring at Yunho at the background, who looks smaller surrounded by the blankets and the pillows.

“Stay here.”

Yunho nods, already sinking back into bed.

 

*

 

“Will he become a liability?”

Changmin keeps his face impassive; he’s had a lot of practice. “I’ll dispose of him myself before that happens.”

The old man smiles, deepening the wrinkles on his face and making him appear a benign, grandfatherly figure. Changmin, however, knows better. Lee Soo Man doesn’t get to the top of the underworld pecking order without leaving a trail of dead bodies in his wake. “Make sure you do, little deer.”

Changmin fucking hates that nickname.

 

*

 

The door is ajar when Changmin comes back and he stares at the sliver of light spilling from the crack. He doesn’t make a sound as he toes it open further too see someone standing over Yunho, who is kneeling on the floor.  

“You’re very pretty, but m’sure y’know that already.” Changmin hears and it makes him fist his fingers. He doesn’t move as the guy grabs Yunho’s jaw, pries it open with a thumb. Yunho makes a quiet, muffled sound. A dry sob. “Pretty mouth too. Bet you’d look real good with my dick that mouth. A cock slut like you gonna be beggin’ for a taste, huh?”

“That’s an interesting proposition.” Changmin steps out of the shadow, a sharp sickle of a smile cleaving his face in half. The guy reels back, stumbling away from Yunho. “Do go on. What else are you gonna do to him?”

“S-Sir, I was just—”

Changmin has always found the guy off-putting, the close-set eyes and spider-like thinness of his limbs suggesting something just a little to the left of human. He doesn’t like him much, so it’s an easy thing to grab the guy’s collar and drives a fist into his face. There’s a sickening crack, the head snaps back as blood spurts over them and Changmin takes a second to savour the moment before he punches him again. His knuckles must’ve grazed some teeth because a cut opens along the ridges, but it’s negligible in the greater scheme of things. Changmin drops him to the ground and watches the guy hacks out even more blood from his mangled mouth, face.

He thinks about shooting off a kneecap or two, but that’s just more mess to clean up.

“Next time I see you anywhere near him, I’ll cut off your dick and stuff it so far down your throat they’re gonna have to surgically remove it.” Changmin flicks his wrist, thick red droplets landing on the carpet. He brings a foot down to crush the guy’s crotch and the wet gurgling turns to screaming. “Understand?”

The frantic nodding Changmin gets is a poor consolation. He watches the guy crawl out of the room and slams the door shut, nose scrunched when he notices the blood splatters. As soon as he’s done clearing up all this mess, he’s going to get a drink. Just to quiet the furious whistling under his skin, between his bones. He looks at Yunho, still on his knees and looking a little shell-shocked, and he’s surprised by the fresh surge of protectiveness rippling his veins. _Mine_ , it says, in a sibilant tongue. Changmin holds out a hand that Yunho takes and he leads him to the bed, sits him down to look him over.   

“You should’ve told him ‘no’.”

Yunho’s lips tremble. “I— I’m sorry, Changmin-sshi.”

“Did he hurt you?”

A quick shake of Yunho’s head uncoils the barbwires inside Changmin’s throat.

“Next time someone else gets handsy, you tell them you’re mine.”

Yunho touches Changmin’s arm, not quite catching hold of him, but enough to demand his attention.

“—Is that true?” Yunho angles him a look from under dark lashes, so earnestly hopeful that it makes something in Changmin’s chest ache. “Am I really yours?”

Changmin considers his red-speckled knuckles for a few seconds. It’s starting to bleed again. “Sure. Why the fuck not.”

 

*

 

“Kyu said you took something from the Han.”

Changmin flips the meat on the grill, letting them cook as he heaps piles of beansprouts and kimchi at the side. Siwon’s expression is half amused, half curious and all the way indulgent as he fills their glasses with beer.

“He’s an adequate bedwarmer.”

“Didn’t think you’d ever settle for just adequate.” Siwon’s grin skews. Changmin likes Siwon, but sometimes, the man can be too damned perceptive for his own good. “Who is he?”

The meat sizzles, fat dripping onto the hot pan underneath. “Is this an interrogation?”

Siwon shrugs. He’s still wearing that cut-glass smile.

Changmin doesn’t think about telling Siwon that it’s as easy as wanting.

He wanted Yunho when he first saw him. That’s all there is to it.

 

*

 

Yunho is looking at the TV and his eyes are like glass in the flickering, coloured light of the screen from where he’s perched on the edge of the bed. The sky is a stripe of butter yellow under sheets of silver and grey clouds when Changmin throws the curtains open. He brings out his handguns, lays them out across the table and begins working through cleaning them. It’s the kind of task that requires just enough attention from him that he can ignore Yunho’s presence, but not so much that he’s unaware of the other’s movements. It’s not long before the TV goes quiet and Yunho’s shadow slides over the table top. Hesitantly, Yunho takes the sofa across from him and curls up in it, watching him.

“Is it easy? Killing someone?”

Changmin mulls over it for a few seconds. “It gets easier.” He adds, because somehow it matters to him that Yunho knows, “I don’t do it for fun.”

Yunho chews on his lip, head tilted. “Are you going to kill me when you get bored of me?”

The question catches him off-guard. Changmin’s eyes flick to Yunho and his mouth thins into a tight line. “No.”

Changmin isn’t sure if it meant _no, I won’t kill you_ or _no, I won’t get bored of you_.

Yunho nods, as if he understands anyway. He uncurls out of the sofa, walks slowly to Changmin and sits in his lap.

He waits for seconds and when it’s clear he isn’t about to be reprimanded, he takes Changmin’s face in his hands to kiss him sweetly, gently.

 

*

 

“Our friend at the coroner said Han Bogyeong was already dead before we arrived.” Kyuhyun shoves a roll of gimbap into his mouth. He looks like he hasn’t slept in three days. “Drugged up to the gills and then bled out. Seems like someone’s after him as well.”

“So? We know he had a lot of enemies.”

“None with enough firepower to come after him like we did.” Kyuhyun frowns, cheeks bulging. “Something just doesn’t feel right, Chwang. I don’t like it.”

Changmin nods, perfunctory. He’s still thinking of Yunho’s mouth and neck—

—and that unguarded softness in his eyes when he looks at Changmin.  

 

*

 

They’re playing poker and despite not seeming to be entirely aware of the rules, Yunho has somehow contrived to win the last two rounds. His poker face, Changmin thinks, makes him look like he’s trying to tie a knot in a cherry stem with his tongue: intent, but also obscene in some vague way. It does enough to distract the others, who are now staring fixedly at Yunho’s mouth instead of the rest of his face and look well on their way to losing this round too. Changmin settles deeper into the sofa, flipping through the pages of his book as Yunho’s laughter rises above the disappointed groans of the cluster of men. The cards are dealt again and someone cracks open more beer.

Changmin would’ve preferred spending the evening with quieter company, but Yunho seems to enjoy the attention.

Makes him smile more, laugh a little bit louder.

Like a flower nestled in a bed of thorns.

Changmin is halfway through his book when they shuffle off in various stages of intoxication, close to midnight, and the room sinks into comfortable silence. He’s aware of the sound of Yunho’s breathing, of quiet footsteps as he changes into something looser for bed. Heechul has apparently taken a liking to Yunho when Changmin wasn’t looking and now Yunho owns an assortment of clothes that look at odds with Changmin’s monochromatic wardrobe. He doesn’t complain; he likes the slide of expensive silk against Yunho’s skin, likes how easily they part when he wants to touch Yunho.

“Changmin-sshi.” Yunho’s voice is soft and warm, and the redness of his lips pulls at Changmin’s eyes. “Are you coming to bed?”

The cap on the whiskey bottle is sticky and he untwists it easily. He pours himself a generous helping and knocks it back, licking away the sweet stickiness of the liquor at the corners of his lips. Yunho is watching him from underneath thick lashes, the creamy smoothness of a shoulder left exposed from where his kimono has slipped askew. His bare thighs are twined with thin blankets and his skin looks softer than Changmin’s favourite Egyptian cotton, goes on for miles and miles and miles. Changmin takes another mouthful, lets it burns him through as he makes his decision. He stands, like a black murder of crows rising up into the air, and feels a twinge of satisfaction when Yunho has to look up at him.

Changmin exhales slowly.

His hand comes down on the back of Yunho’s neck and curls there. He doesn’t say anything, but Yunho seems to understand just the same. He shifts forward on his knees, the kimono falling open around him in a puddle of bright colours and his fingers find Changmin’s belt. Changmin’s thumb strokes over Yunho’s neck, thoughtlessly touching him as the buckle relents, the belt sliding out of the loops. Yunho tilts his head then, large dark eyes asking for permission. As if afraid that Changmin will stop him there. Another flick of his thumb and Yunho smiles, starts undressing him with careful hands. His briefs are tented by the time Yunho gets to them and he almost laughs when his cock springs free, the tip nudging Yunho’s cheek.

Changmin pushes Yunho back and climbs into the bed, taking in all that perfect smooth skin, shining rosy gold in the dim light, and the fragile little glass-bones underneath. Yunho is a pliant sweetness under him, the kind that makes Changmin’s teeth ache and his mouth water. He smooths his palms up Yunho’s legs and pries them further apart. He slicks his fingers with spit, rubs them at the hot clinginess of Yunho’s hole. Changmin nudges it open with a fingertip and hears the rhythm of Yunho’s breathing change. He sees the flush of colour on Yunho’s cheeks, the flutter of his eyelashes as his thighs spread wider. Changmin pushes the entire finger in, doesn’t take long before he’s cramming a second and a third. Yunho doesn’t move, but his breath gets shallower, needier. His mouth parts open, as if begging for a kiss.

Changmin pulls his fingers out, wipes them over the sheet and leans over to press his lips against Yunho’s.

The kiss has too much teeth to be gentle and Yunho makes a noise like bones are breaking inside him, but his thighs strain wider around Changmin. Another invitation, as good as any. Changmin grunts as he sinks into Yunho. It’s raw and Yunho feels too warm, too tight around him. He pushes Yunho’s legs wider apart to fit himself in better. Yunho has thrown his head back, arches into sharp lines and Changmin watches the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers claw at the sheets. He fucks sharply into Yunho, hands curved around Yunho’s narrow hips, and grins at the moan he gets in return. A blurred noise of vowels that goes straight to his cock, spurs him into harsher thrusts. His mouth latches onto Yunho’s throat, biting and sucking until the skin is tender and slippery.

His eyes flicker up to see Yunho’s mouth parted open, Changmin’s name tumbling out of those kiss-bruised lips in breathless pleas.

 

*

 

Mornings with Yunho is a revelation – he’s quick to wake and sensitive to light, burrowing deeper into Changmin’s arms when the blinds don’t do enough to shield him from the sunrise. Changmin likes to watch light occupy the space on Yunho’s exposed skin, in every dip and swell of muscle, the way his lips move fretfully against the side of Changmin’s neck. He’s well-used and exhausted, and Changmin likes how prettily he wears the bruises from Changmin’s hands, how the colours blossom against his china-perfect skin. Changmin trails fingertips along the arch of Yunho’s neck and hooks his thumb just under an ear.

His eyes narrow.

There are scars at the base of the neck. Interlocked X’s, three of them.

Changmin rubs a thumb over the crude brand and simmers with rage.

 

*

 

“I heard you picked up a new plaything,” Qian says in greeting, stepping inside without invitation and surveying his room. She’s wearing black leather, supple and silent when she moves, and her pale skin is flawless. “Is he prettier than me?”

Changmin rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

Her laughter is sharp, familiar. It’s been a while since he last saw her – in their line of work, goodbyes are both temporary and permanent. She’d been sent to China on multiple occasions, staying longer and longer after each stint that it seemed more prudent to relegate their relationship into the occasional fucks, no strings attached. Changmin’s pouring her a generous helping of wine when Yunho steps out of the bathroom, a quiet, surprised noise slipping past his lips when he sees Qian.

“Qian, this is Yunho.” Yunho’s flushed red, all the way down to his exposed chest, and he’s standing in front of the bathroom like he’s about to run back into it. “Yunho, Song Qian.”

Yunho murmurs a polite greeting, but he doesn’t meet Changmin’s eyes as he grabs a change of clothes. One of Changmin’s t-shirt and a fresh pair of jeans, and he asks for Changmin’s permission to see Heechul.

“ _Fine_ ,” Qian says, grudging acceptance at war with admiration. Changmin sees her lick her lips as she watches Yunho escape the room. “I can see why you’re smitten. I wouldn’t mind keeping him too.”

“Hands off.” Changmin’s eyes narrow. They did share in the past, occasionally, but Yunho is _his_. “That one’s not for you.”

Qian scoffs and crosses her arms. “Jealousy’s an ugly colour on you, Chwang. Don’t worry; I’m not here to steal your little kitten.”

Changmin spends the better part of the morning briefing Qian about everything she’d missed when she was away. She wouldn’t be staying long; she’s taking a red-eye back to Beijing after her meeting with the old man. Qian punctuates her visit with a kiss, laughs at Changmin’s unimpressed look and saunters off to terrorise others. Changmin finds Yunho in the kitchen, who’s concentrating on driving one of his fries through a pool of ketchup that glistens sickly red in the raw glare of the overhead light fixtures. His mouth is set in a pretty, sulky pout and the frown upon his forehead is a sight to behold.

Changmin steals the ketchup-drenched fry from Yunho’s fingers.

Yunho’s frown deepens.

“Are you jealous?” Changmin asks, bemused.

“No.” He raises an eyebrow and Yunho flushes, eyes skittering away. In a smaller voice, he amends, “Maybe. She’s very beautiful.” Changmin nods absently, because it’s true. Qian is one hell of a looker. Yunho’s head drops. “Are you going to ask me to leave?”

Changmin blinks mid-chew. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“She’s very beautiful,” Yunho repeats, putting emphasis on ‘ _beautiful_ ’. His voice has taken on a mournful edge. He’d picked up another fry and the ketchup is starting to resemble something from a Pollock painting. “I’m—”   

“An idiot,” Changmin cuts him off, impatient. “You’re an idiot.”

He steps closer and slides his hands over Yunho’s face, cradling his jaw, his fingers tucked into the hair at the back of Yunho’s neck. He tilts Yunho’s head and kisses him. He licks Yunho’s mouth open and his hands move to palm Yunho’s narrow hips. He doesn’t even realise they had moved until he’s pressing Yunho against the kitchen counter. Yunho breaks the kiss to drag air into his lungs, but Changmin picks up where he’s left off. He grips Yunho’s face, hauls him close and keeps him there so he can devour Yunho’s pretty little mouth with his tongue and teeth. Yunho moans, makes Changmin tug harder on his lower lip, lick over the corner of Yunho’s mouth until Yunho is clutching his shoulders with shaking hands.

Yunho’s mouth is fantastic and Changmin loves it, but Yunho also has a face and a throat and a fascinating little curve of bone just at the hinge of his jaw, and Changmin wants to get to them all.

Song Qian didn’t make him feel this way. No one else ever did.

 

*

 

In the orange and brown haze of dusk, the garden looks like a sepia photograph, the lines at turns indistinct and stark. Changmin rubs his face as he tries to shake off that feeling of lethargy from his bones, thinks of the trips he’s expected to make soon. He watches Yunho, who’s sitting so close to the pond that he looks in danger of falling into it. He’s feeding the koi, mouth stretched into a wide smile as water splashes over his jeans. His delight is almost child-like, a mystery as to how he remains unsullied by the ugliness of their intertwined worlds. Changmin supposes that’s something to envy. He’s been dirty for so long that he doesn’t remember ever having a clear conscience.

His phone vibrates.

He lets it go on for a while, before it becomes too annoying and thumbs at the green button.

“Max,” he says, clipped. He doesn’t recognise the number.

“ _Hello, Shim Changmin-sshi.”_

“Who the fuck is this?”

“ _I’ve been told you have something that belongs to me._ ”

Changmin stiffens. He doesn’t like to be caught off-guard, even less so when he’s at a disadvantage. His eyes flicker to Yunho. “You’ve been told wrong.”

“ _A friendly reminder, Shim Changmin-sshi. Return him and you’ll never hear from me again._ ”

“And if I refuse?”

“ _That is most unfortunate. You see, he’s either mine or—_ ”

Yunho’s waving at him, bright eyes crinkled into half-moons. Changmin’s grip on the phone tightens and he remembers the X’s carved into Yunho’s neck.

“ _—he belongs to no one at all._ ”

 

*

 

“I need you to track this number down.”

Ryeowook’s brows furrow behind his glasses. He flicks the piece of paper between his fingers. “What’s in it for me?”

Changmin levels him a pointed stare. “One favour. That’s it.”

Ryeowook grins. The light from multiple screens around him makes him look like an alien scarecrow. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

 

*

 

Changmin tries to teach Yunho how to shoot. It isn’t that hard. What makes it difficult is the way Yunho’s hands shake when he holds the 9 mms they’re using for practice and how he flinches every time he fires a shot. Dealing with recoils makes him even more jittery; he’s too tense to handle the kickback right and Changmin tries to convince him that it really is as simple as pointing and pulling the trigger. Yunho doesn’t share that sentiment – he’s chewing right through his bottom lip and looks like he’d rather be in a pit of snakes than the shooting range.

Changmin removes the gun from Yunho’s hands and almost laughs at the relieved sag of Yunho’s shoulder.

“I don’t like— guns,” Yunho confesses during the drive back, a strawberry milkshake clasped between his hands and a milk moustache on the top of his lip. Changmin has to resist pulling over just to lick it off. Yunho fiddles with the seatbelt and adds, endearingly soft, “Besides, I’ll be safe as long as I’m with you, Changmin-sshi.”

 

*

 

Changmin’s asleep in a hotel room in Cheongju, on a weekend trip to oversee the family’s business transactions, when the phone rings.

“Something’s happened to Yunho-hyung,” comes Minseok’s panicked voice. Changmin sits up in his bed, something ugly and heavy settling in his guts. The clock on the bedside table reads _02:30_. “We can’t find him anywhere.”

Changmin grabs for his pants and hammers on the dividing wall to wake Kyuhyun up.

 

*

 

The destination Ryeowook gave him is an old textile factory, a block of corrugated metal and broken glass windows. From the trunk of the car, Changmin takes a knife and a gun, and the weapons slot into place in his hands like the chambering of a bullet. He strides inside, knife tucked down the back of his pants and his gun lowered at his side. He has neither time nor patience for defence. Changmin follows the single light down the dingy passages and finds a locked door. Everything is quiet on the other side. He tries the handle, puts more pressure on it, but it remains unyielding. It only gives way when Changmin slams his leg into it, snapping the lock.

Yunho is unmoving on the floor, on his side, beaten with a thoroughness that speaks of enjoyment. His shirt is sodden with blood and the fabric clings perversely to the sculptured shape of his body, leaves very little to imagination. Changmin drops to his knees beside him, turning Yunho onto his back to check his injuries. Yunho goes easily, but the sharp hitch of breath tells Changmin of bruised ribs, maybe broken, and he needs to get Yunho to the doctor soon. It makes dealing with the thunderous rage in his veins easier when he has something else to focus on.

“I said ‘no’, just like you t-told me to.” Changmin reaches down and mops the blood from Yunho’s mouth with the cuff of his shirtsleeve. Underneath, the cut on Yunho’s lips is an angry red pucker and it starts bleeding again when he smiles shakily. “Did I do well, Changmin-sshi?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

He kisses Yunho, doesn’t care that their mouths are slippery with blood.

 

*

 

The tightness around Siwon’s eyes is easy to mistake as concern, but Changmin’s known him long enough to recognise otherwise. There’s a thin brown folder sitting between them. Siwon has a hand over it, keeping it in his half of the table.

“He used to be in the business, years back, except he enjoyed it just way too much. He likes cutting people up. That’s what he does. He cuts them up, any time he gets an appetite for it.” Siwon pauses to frown. “We know who he is, but it doesn’t mean you should go after a guy like that, Chwang. We haven’t even figured out how he managed to grab Yunho in the first place. Our security saw nothing.”

Changmin appreciates that Siwon uses ‘ _shouldn’t_ ’ instead of ‘ _can’t_ ’. He has to tug hard to dislodge Siwon’s hand from the folder. “Thanks, hyung. I owe you for this.”

“You’re getting reckless.” The glint in Siwon’s eyes is harsh and calculating. He’s already assessing the risks Changmin’s taking and doesn’t seem to like the numbers. “Don’t you think it’s about time you cut him loose?”

Changmin clenches his teeth and walks away before he can say something he’d regret.

 

*

 

It’s raining outside. Yunho is leaning against the window, sits on the sill and the curl of his mouth wistful as he stares at something Changmin can’t see. He’s wearing one of Changmin’s shirts, dark red, and it hangs loosely over his hips, does little to cover his legs. They’re crossed, long and beautiful and pale, and Changmin looks at him with hunger gnawing on the lining of his stomach. He slips out of bed, toes sinking into thick rug as he pads towards Yunho. It takes two seconds maybe and Yunho turns to look at him, lips curling into a soft smile.

Changmin runs his fingers through Yunho’s hair, before tracing around residual bruises marking the skin of his face.

“Yunho,” he says, thumbing at the split lip. It’s healing, wouldn’t even scar. “Do you want to leave?”  

Yunho inhales sharply and a hand lashes out to grip Changmin’s sweats, fingers curled into the worn fabric. He’s gone pale, dark eyes wide and wet with fear.  

“Changmin-sshi, did I do something wrong?” His voice quivers, splinters. The rain gets heavier, drowns out the rest of the world. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry— please don’t throw me away—”

Yunho is still crying when Changmin carries him to bed, even after Changmin kisses the tears away and peels off their clothes slow and gentle, pressing their bodies together. Yunho clutches at him, refuses to let go as if he’s convinced that Changmin would disappear once he removes his hands. His tears leave wet streaks on Changmin’s collarbone and there’s a sliver of heartbreak in each shudder of breath he takes. Changmin doesn’t make promises, not often, but he whispers them against Yunho’s lips anyway.

 

*

 

Chae Jongil is a wiry man with a face carved out of malice. When Changmin finds him, he’s in the middle of steadily punching the life out of a junkie and looks to be thoroughly enjoying the exercise.  Changmin raises his gun and shoots him in the hip, debilitating but not fatal. He goes down with a quiet grunt and the guy he’d been punching scrambles away, stumbling down the alley and disappearing in an impressively short space of time. Jongil starts laughing when he sees Changmin, bares yellowing teeth that look too sharp to be human even as he’s bleeding out.

“You’re a hard man to find,” Changmin says, conversational. He crouches in front of him, pats him down until he find the other man’s gun. “I don’t believe we’ve crossed paths before, so I’ll assume you’re on someone else’s payroll. And you’re going to tell me who.”

The laughter ebbs to a low, throaty chuckle. “Did you like what I did to your whore? He’s my favourite so far. Really knows how to get down on his knees and beg, that one.”

Jongil’s eyes just have chance to go wide before a knife is slammed straight through his collarbone. He groans, his breathing reduced to wheezing, and sweat dribbles down his sour milk skin in fat drops.

“We can do this all night.” Changmin works the knife deeper, twisting it clockwise. And then counter, working a gaping red hole in Jongil’s flesh. “Or you can save yourself the trouble and tell me what I want to know.”

Jongil leans as far forward as the knife allows and spits at Changmin’s face.

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit.” The manic glint in his eyes flashes brutal and fearless, a light refracted into something multi-stranded. Crazed. “Now, unless you’re gonna give me another round with your cock-sucking whore—”

There’s no point in talking to a dead man. Changmin takes great pleasure in breaking every single one of Jongil’s fingers, before snapping his neck and leaving him for the rats.

 

*

 

Changmin comes back in the early morning.

He sees Yunho making breakfast, legs peeking from under his oversized sweater with just the slightest hint of his briefs whenever he raises his arm a bit while he cooks. He’s humming a song, movement light and airy as he dances around the kitchen. Yunho already has an audience, some of them looking at him with a besotted expression firmly plastered over their faces, and they greet Changmin when he walks past them. There are sausages and eggs in the plates, a heaping pile of pancakes on the side.

Slightly burnt and misshapen and Changmin grins at that – Yunho’s isn’t perfect, not really, and he likes it that way.

He showers and drags himself to bed, finds that Yunho had already cut up an apple for him, drizzling a bit of honey over the slices. Yunho crawls over the crumbled blankets with it and Changmin leans his chin over the back of his hand, damp strands of hair obscuring his eyes. He watches the honey slither down Yunho’s fingers as Yunho slides a wedge into his mouth, fingers trapped around Changmin’s lips as he licks the last bit of honey before letting go. Changmin takes Yunho’s hand by the wrist when the slices are all gone and kisses his pulse point, feeling the veins pulse under his lips.

He spends an inordinate amount of time tracing Yunho’s hipbones with his mouth, the line of his thighs with his tongue, biting the skin and leaving marks on his skin with his teeth. Yunho makes quiet, desperate noises, almost as if he’s crying. But his cheeks are dry when Changmin looks at him and Changmin buries his face on the side of Yunho’s neck, pressing kisses against his throat. He sucks over the skin on his pulse, making it burn angry red. He wants to tell Yunho about Chae Jongil, that he killed a man not for profit or the family, but for something that felt a lot like love.

Changmin fucks Yunho over the headboard as sunlight spills into the bedroom, paints everything a shade of honey gold.

 

*

 

Changmin picks the flower out of a catalogue. Yunho agrees with a smile, just a tiny quirk of his lips and sits quietly in the chair as Qian traces the shape over the back of his neck. It would be in black and white, magnolia blossoming over the scars so no one else would know he didn’t use to belong to Changmin. His hair is pinned up and the needle buzzes quietly once she’s done with the prep. Qian tells him to relax, that it wouldn’t take long.

Yunho reaches out for Changmin to thread their fingers together.

 

*

 

**end**

 


End file.
